I wrote something for a bike company.

I could tell the rain was coming by the sheets hanging from the sky to the west, but was hoping we would make it closer to home before we were rained on. With about 35 miles to go I felt the tickle on my eyelash and knew we were about to get wet. A crack of lightning seemed closer than I wanted and signaled that it was time to up the pace. I looked over at Reece and started pushing harder. My breathing started to get heavy and the rain started to come down with a thickness. I could feel my legs starting to protest, but in the rain that doesn’t matter. Faster and faster we went always within a wheel of each other. By now we were flying over the crushed lime stone that makes up the Southwest LRT trail. I couldn’t help but start laughing. I looked over with a smile I couldn’t hide and said one of my favorite quotes, ”Hey Reece! I don’t think the heavy stuff is going to come down for quite some time!”

Biking is funny. We don’t just do stuff that everyone else tries their hardest to avoid. We obsess over it. We fall in love with it. Biking becomes our lives. I remember a quote from when I was younger that said that a person who can speak two languages can see the world with two souls. I think that being a cyclist gives a person a window to the world that is closed to everyone else. At times that is a good thing. I’ll take every sunset that rips open the horizon and pours its fire across the sky. I’ll put up with the deer that doesn’t hear me coming and storms across the trail two feet off my wheel. I can handle the family of bald eagles feeding in the tree above me screeching to ward me off. What I have trouble handling is the time that cycling hoards from family and loved ones. That I think is the price that has been paid before by everyone who has followed their passion to a depth that borders on obsession.

Obsession in the summer is racing. Most evenings and weekends are full with crits, mountain bike races and “friendly” group rides. Usually the free day is Monday. That I spend doing what other than mountain biking with my friend Owen. The summer is easy to hammer everyday. If it seems too hot or rainy I remember February. I remember the battle to keep my eyelids from freezing shut. I remember my fingers starting to ache from the cold knowing eventually they’ll stop if I can handle the pain. Summer is freedom through work.

Obsession in the winter is nature. I ride everyday in the winter for myself. The winter reminds me of why I got into biking. The colors are fantastic until they fade. Then everything becomes dark until the full moon shows a snow covered landscape that goes off for an eternity into the dark. The stars fill the sky and Van Gogh comes alive. It is a time to investigate the beaver dams and gawk at the size of the birds. The cold is cold. It is hard. The chill will stay with me all year, but it is worth the effort. Winter is beauty through work.

Cycling to me is all of those things. Love, passion, obsession, and failure. Expensive in every way, but worthwhile in so many more ways.